2022-05-13 #poem-a-day#writing/poetry
denny’s at 11 i’ve been to this street millions of times and i’ve never seen this denny’s. it’s as if we willed it into existence out of nowhere from the air. A big sign, yellow lined with neon red, dangled down from heaven illuminated by a too small spotlight.
we order a veggie omelette, buffalo chicken wings. side of hashbrowns to go with the 2010 throwbacks, Ed Sheeran and Bruno Mars. old school velvet seats and tiktok influencer-invented dishes. The waiter seems impatient with our indecision or maybe it’s my out-of-place laughter like parrots among elephants.
the wings arrive, a sea of red drowning in an ocean of white. the man to my right orders a coffee. he doesn’t touch the cup. it’s a means to an end, a coffee—a metaphor for warm space, like fried wings drowning—a metaphor for those understanding gaps, where gods sprout out from mundane mystery.
like the way eggs have a multitude of rich forms, or the multitude of ways fried chunks of chicken can drown, or how sitting in a denny’s at 11 embraced by a sleeping city, illuminated by old light, caressed by tiktok fame, consoled by love song oldies, surrounded by weary wanderers, baffled by neon red buffalo sauce, affronted by the weight of extractive capitalism & delighted by the magic of mystical realism & attracted to the smell of mass-produced absurdity…
I find myself laughing.
denny’s at 11 i’ve been to this street millions of times and never seen this denny’s. it’s as if it appeared out of nowhere. A big yellow sign dangled down from the heavens illuminated by a too small spotlight.
I order a veggie omelette, buffalo chicken wings. Side of hashbrowns to go with the 2010 throwbacks, Ed Sheeran and Bruno Mars. Old school velvet seats and Tik Tok influencer invented dishes. The waiter seems impatient with our indecision or maybe it’s my out-of-place laughter like parrots among elephants.
The wings arrive, a sea of red drowned in an ocean of white. The man to my right orders a single coffee. He doesn’t touch the cup. It’s a means to an end, a coffee a metaphor for warm space, like fried wings drowning a metaphor for those gaps in understanding, where gods sprout out of the mystery embedded in daily mundane.
Like the way eggs have a multitude of rich forms or the way a multitude have invented fried chunks of chicken or how sitting in a denny’s at 11 embraced by a sleeping city, illuminated by old light, confronted by Tik Tok fame, consoled by love song oldies, surrounded by weary wanderers, baffled by neon red buffalo sauce, affronted by the weight of extractive capitalism & delighted by the magic of mystical realism & attracted to the smell of mass-produced absurdity, I find myself laughing.